Three Points? Try Two

I’m here to tell you that the 3-point shot, as it exists throughout basketball today, is a fraud. I know this because I was once pretty good at it, only it counted for just two points then, as Dr. Naismith intended.

See if this makes any sense: Manu Ginobili drives wickedly through two Orlando defenders, then comes up against Dwight Howard, the most fearsome shot-blocker in the league. Ginobili somehow gets a shot off, a little 4-foot floater, while being slammed in the right shoulder by Howard. No foul is called. Ginobili picks himself off the floor for a hard-earned two points.

OK, now it’s any game in any collegiate arena, and some sharpshooter lines up a cakewalk 21-footer and it goes in. Could have done it in his sleep. That’s worth three? You can’t be serious.

The essence of this argument is something I learned playing basketball in high school. Outside shooters are a novelty, particularly if (like me) they can’t do anything else. The real game is played inside, where bangers loom, where hard contact is a way of life and it takes considerable skill, to say nothing of cojones, to be a consistently good rebounder or inside scorer.

I’ll never forget the thrill of being handed a blue-and-gold silk uniform, of the Santa Monica High School Vikings, in my junior year. It was the C team, for guys of lesser size, but it held at least a measure of prestige. Samohi, as it was known, had a student body of 3,000 kids and a serious ethnic mix, rich in students of African-American, Hispanic, Asian and Jewish heritage. Going to Cal-Berkeley was hardly a cultural shock for me, because I’d experienced a true melting pot in high school.

I made the team only because I was the best outside shooter on campus. I was slow as hell, couldn’t jump, had no left hand, didn’t dribble all that well with my good hand, had zero inside presence, couldn’t guard a statue, didn’t see the court that well. This is why I played, like, five minutes a game. I’d come onto the court when my coach figured I could do his Vikings the least amount of damage. I fully understood this, too. No late-in-life embellishments from this corner. I’d go months without losing a game of H-O-R-S-E, and I could hang in any pickup game because hitting a 25-foot shot was nothing for me; it was commonplace. But once any defender really got serious, I was neutralized. Useless. Worst guy on either team.

See, you don’t reward players like me. You don’t hand out three points like candy to some guy who could just as easily be peeling a grape. You reward the guys in the trenches, where the game is really being decided. And you definitely don’t designate 3-point lines based on the level of competition. You’re undoubtedly aware that the NBA line is 23-9 (diminishing to 22 at the corners), the NCAA line is now 20-9, the international game is transitioning toward 20-6 and the women’s collegiate game is 19-9. This has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Not only might you go into a gym with three different painted lines, causing utter confusion, but there should be no such designation whatsoever. I know, because I was a skinny guy with arms like noodles (must have been the wrists). Plenty of women, to say nothing of guys from Duke, Lithuania or the French national team, can hit a 25-foot shot with ease. They struggle to contain their laughter when a chip shot is good for extra credit. It’s almost like cheating,.

I’d call for a standardization of the 3-point line: 25 feet at every level of the game (including high schools), with the unavoidable reduction to 22 feet at the corners. That would retain the excitement for fans accustomed to teams quick-fixing their way out of a large deficit. The best solution of all, though, would be worldwide banishment. Dr. Naismith designed a game so beautiful, the 10-foot basket has survived every era; it’s the perfect height. Let’s get back to full appreciation of “two.”

3-DOTTING: I was planning to ask Don Nelson about Tom Heinsohn‘s “stickum” comment on a Celtics telecast the other night, but Matt Steinmetz (who writes a must-read Warriors blog on examiner.com) beat me to it at Friday’s Warrior practice. Heinsohn good-naturedly pointed out that Nelson’s huge right hand, already invaluable to him on inbounds passes and up-fakes, became an even greater ally with the help of stickum. “Yes, that’s true,” Nelson told Steinmetz. “So you cheated,” Matt replied. “Well, I don’t know if that’s called a cheat. It was legal at one time to use stickum, and then it became illegal. When it was illegal, I guess I cheated.” Later on, Nelson said, “I hid it under my drawers. I always had it on me. That (ball fakes) was one of the few things I did well.” . . . Mouthpieces aren’t the most comfortable things to wear on a basketball court, but it makes for grim television viewing when a player just can’t keep the damn thing in his mouth. Warrior fans are intimately familiar with two of the league leaders in nausea, Al Harrington and Marco Belinelli, and Orlando’s Jameer Nelson is right up there . . . A day after that controversial press conference, USC coach Pete Carroll praised quarterback Mark Sanchez for his talent and character but wasn’t backing down from his aggressively negative display, saying “I was ready to battle.” KNBR’s Ralph Barbieri made a good point: It was refreshing to hear a coach actually say what he thinks. It’s just that Carroll, who reportedly had a long, heated meeting with Sanchez the night before, should have calmed down by the following day. Make your point, but drop the hostility and take a moment to look Sanchez in the eye . . . Thanks to reader Kevin Thompson, who appreciated the item on Red Rush and passed along this classic from Ron Fairly on a long-ago Giants broadcast: “Now, to repeat what I forgot to say earlier . . . ”